The Promise in the Past
by timeaftertime09
Summary: Starting with S6's "The Finder", unseen moments that could have happened, leading up to "Hole in the Heart".  Decided to expand this one-shot a little more.
1. Chapter 1

As they finished their dinner at Santiago's, Brennan stared at her chocolate gelato.

"Somethin' wrong, Bones?" Booth asked.

"I find I am still confused. Walter has no logical method of discovering objects or people and yet he somehow manages to be consistently successful at it . . . He found a picture of me with my mother that I hadn't even requested," she revealed. "I was very impressed."

"The guy's got the stupid finder power – that's all," Booth replied. "Now. Can we stop talkin' about Inspector Gadget and get back to a more pleasant topic?"

Brennan hesitated before speaking again.

"I don't know who that is?" she said, perplexed.

"It's an old kids' cartoon about a dumbass detective with all these – never mind . . ." Booth rolled his eyes in frustration.

She crinkled her brow, still puzzled, but moved on to her point.

"If you dislike Walter so much, why did you so quickly offer my sexual services to him without my consent?" she inquired.

"Because, Bones, I was – I would never – look – I was just tryin' to get him to help us. I would never really expect you to . . . you know . . . follow through with it," he struggled with an explanation.

"Then why did you suggest it?" Brennan persisted, unsatisfied with his answer.

"I was goading him – tryin' to string him along. God, Bones, don't ya know by now that I'm workin' to not be so mad – to get to a point where you . . . and me . . . and . . . and love . . . could happen?"

"You have expressed those feelings to me. But there are times when I am unsure if you still have those intentions," she admitted.

"Don't be," Booth assured her, then awkwardly cleared his throat. "So. You gonna eat that last bite there, or can I have it before it melts?"

"We can split it," she offered.

Booth took his spoon and cut three-fourths of it for himself, proceeding to direct the spoon to his mouth.

"_Booth!_ That's not half – that is _not_ half!" Brennan protested and attempted to grab the spoon from his hand.

Booth grinned, boyishly, and devoured the dessert.

Brennan smacked his arm and pouted.

"What?" he asked.

Brennan remained silent, crossing her arms.

Booth softened, spooning the remaining gelato up and offering it to her.

"Truce?" he proposed.

"I don't see how a truce can be formed by offering me the lesser portion of _my_ dessert," she maintained.

"C'mon, Bones, it's startin' to drip in my hand," he whined.

"Good," Brennan replied.

"_Bones_ . . . Hey, you know you want it . . . all that chocolaty goodness . . ." Booth tempted her, swirling the spoon in her face.

Brennan softly laughed and couldn't help but forgive him. She opened her mouth and accepted the spoonful of gelato.

Booth smiled and put the spoon down.

"You tired?" he asked.

"What did you have in mind?" Brennan wondered, then read what he was thinking.

"Movie . . ." they simultaneously said in sing-song voices, their foreheads almost touching.

Their eyes locked for a moment until the waiter came with the check and cleared his throat, breaking the spell between them.

Booth took the bill and got out his wallet.

"Booth, no – it's my turn. You paid for lunch, remember?" she reminded him.

"Bones, just let me do this, okay? There are some things a guy still wants to do, ya know? I know it's the 21st Century, but -" he was prepared for a lengthy protest from her, complete with women's rights and equality, but was surprisingly interrupted.

"Okay," she conceded, smiling shyly.

"O-Okay? Just like that?" Booth asked, shocked he didn't have to put up a fight.

"Yes," she confirmed. "I understand your need to be chivalrous occasionally."

"Thanks, Bones," Booth smiled and put down his credit card. "So about that movie?"

"How about 'The Mummy'? They're showing a remastered version of it at the $1.50 theater," Brennan suggested, her blue eyes lighting up.

"Sure – Brendan Fraser, Rachel Weisz . . . I'm game," he said, eagerly rubbing his hands together. It was rare that Brennan ever suggested anything made in the last two and a half decades.

"No – the one starring Boris Karloff and Zita Johann – _that_ one," she corrected him.

"Who?" he asked, crinkling his brow.

"The 1932 version, Booth. It's a classic . . . it was the reason I began a career in anthropology," Brennan admitted.

Booth sighed and caved. If it really meant that much to her, he'd suck it up and go. If nothing else, he could be satisfied knowing she was happy.

"Sure, we'll go, Bones. But next time it's my pick – deal?" he bargained, putting his wallet back after leaving a tip.

"Deal," she agreed.

"You ready?" he asked, standing up and holding out her jacket for her.

"Ready," she replied, putting it on. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" he answered as they walked out of the restaurant.

"Thank you . . . I realize this is not a film you wish to see, but you're going with me regardless," Brennan told him.

"It's called compromise, Bones. Next time we'll see my kinda movie. It's not a big deal," Booth assured her.

Brennan coyly looked up at him as they walked toward the theater.

"I . . . was attracted to Walter," she admitted. "He was very charming."

"Are you kiddin' me? C'mon, Bones!" he protested.

"However, while I found him appealing, there were certain qualities that were lacking," Brennan finished. "As you once told me, I believe you to be the 'standard'."

"So ol' Wally just couldn't cut it, huh?" Booth grinned, smugly, his ego multiplying by the minute.

"_Booth . . ._" Brennan scolded his childish behavior.

"_What . . .?_" he played innocent.


	2. Chapter 2

"What did you mean by 'going commando'?" Brennan asked as they sat in Founding Fathers, drinking beer and discussing untold truths. "The term 'commando' originated from special forces soldiers in the British military."

Booth reddened. He was gonna kill Sweets for that damn clown crap.

"Yeah, it's uh, it's a military thing," he explained.

"Why would your underwear have anything to do with the military?" she tried to make the connection.

"It doesn't. It's a metaphor about bein' tough, Bones . . . It means not wearin' any," he said, clearing his throat nervously.

"_Oh . . ._" she said, and hid a curious smile. "How often does your 'going commando' occur?"

"_Bones_, can we not talk about this?" he groaned.

"Why? You were the one who brought it up at the meeting," she pointed out.

"Well, yeah. But I was only tryin' to distract people from focusin' on the whole clown thing," he excused.

"And _that_ was what came to your mind?" she questioned, amused.

"What happened to the whole 'exceptional partner' thing, huh?" he teased.

Brennan gave him an annoyed expression and they drank silently, yet contentedly, for a while before she spoke again.

"I . . . have lied by omission as well," she confessed, nervously. "I . . . was not entirely unhappy when Hannah exited your life."

Booth stiffened a little. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. That night he found her in the rain, she'd all but told him she was in love with him. Of course she'd be glad Hannah was out of the picture.

"Not because I did not enjoy her friendship or your happiness - I want you to be happy, Booth," she assured him. "But I found I missed our time together – literally and metaphorically speaking."

He started to open his mouth when she stopped him.

"Before you speak, know that I do not blame you or Hannah for our reduced time. You had more important obligations and I respect that . . . However, I believe that you have the right to know that while I never expressed it, I enjoyed our personal friendship," she admitted.

Booth gave a bittersweet smile.

"You were important, too, Bones – you still are," he told her, putting his hand over hers.

They caught each other's eyes for a moment.

"Do you want another beer?" he offered, clearing his throat.

Brennan shook her head.

"I think I've had too many without sustenance. We could order some fried mozzarella and artichoke dip?" she suggested.

"Or we could go to my place and get a pizza?" Booth offered.

"Half-vegetarian?" she asked.

"Like always," he promised.

"Okay," she agreed, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.

He followed, after paying the tab, and smiled as she hailed them a cab in her buzzed state. He thought about the nights when she'd gotten in one and left him behind, looking back at him through the window as she faded away. This time was different, though. This time they were going somewhere together.

"Booth? What are you staring at? The cab driver won't wait much longer!" Brennan complained.

"What? Oh, nothin', Bones. I just – never mind," he said.

He helped her in the cab and got in beside her.

"Antonio's?" he suggested, whipping out his phone.

"The last time we ordered from there I had to use multiple napkins to absorb all of the excessive grease from my pizza," Brennan objected.

"That's why they're the best, Bones. All the little pepperonis are filled with greasy goodness – it adds to the flavor," he argued.

"Yes, but as I recall, we've ordered it and then the next day you complain about intestinal discomfort," she countered. "I'd prefer not to hear your cantankerous moaning tomorrow."

"Hey – I do _not_ moan!" he protested.

She looked at him with disbelief.

"Marro's?" she suggested.

"Their pizza tastes like cardboard!" he argued.

"You've eaten cardboard before?" she asked, skeptically.

"Of course not, Bones! It's an expression – means it's dry and has no taste," he said.

"Marro's pizza has plenty of taste – fresh vegetables, fresh tomato sauce, goat cheese . . ." she said. "And it's much healthier than Antonio's."

"Health food tastes like cardboard, Bones," Booth insisted.

"Not _all_ health food. Vegetables are healthy and have very satisfying flavors. Tofu, when cooked properly with the correct ingredients can taste similar to a lot of meat products," she argued.

"Can we just pick a pizza place?" he groaned, knowing the current fight could go on forever.

"I still think we should order from Marro's," Brennan replied.

"Bones, you _know_ Antonio's is better," he claimed.

"Not better _for_ you . . . How about Romalotti's?" she suggested.

"That, uh, that place we went to after we first became partners?" he remembered and smiled, shyly. "Yeah . . . Ya think they're still around?"

"Let's see," Brennan said, smiling, as she scooted next to him and searched on his phone. "Yes – right there – off of 4th Street."

"Great! Think they still have those breadsticks?" he wondered, taking the phone back.

"With mozzarella cheese and extra marinara sauce?" she said, lighting up.

"I remember you had one with so much cheese that when ya tried to bite into it, it stretched like a mile long!" he chuckled.

"It was not a mile long, Booth. That's physically impossible," Brennan corrected him.

"_It was too, Bones!_" he insisted.

"_It was not, Booth!_ I will use my measuring tape to prove it," she replied.

"We might not get one like that again," he argued.

"I _know_ we won't," she agreed. "It was never that long in the first place and -"

"Hey! Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but are ya gonna go home and order your pizza or just sit here and bicker all night?" the driver asked, stopped in front of Booth's apartment.

Booth and Brennan awkwardly caught each other's eyes and got out of the cab. Booth paid the driver and led Brennan to the door, his hand instinctively on the small of her back.

"I'll, uh, I'll order the pizza," Booth said as they got in the elevator.

"With extra cheese on the breadsticks?" Brennan smiled.

"And extra marinara," he smiled back and dialed the number, returning his brown eyes to her blue.

They both knew what they were feeling, but at that moment, some things really were better left unsaid.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so much for reading and for your reviews! Here's a moment that I thought could have happened after "The Signs in the Silence"._

"You wanna grab a bite to eat?" Booth asked as they walked through the garden of the Jeffersonian after finishing their case.

"I have the ingredients for macaroni and cheese at my apartment. Would you like to have dinner there?" she offered.

"Bones, ya don't have to cook me dinner. I don't wanna have you go to all that trouble," he said.

"It isn't any trouble, Booth. We're both hungry and all I have to do is boil water for the pasta and chop and sauté some vegetables . . . Unless you had something else in mind instead?" she hesitated.

"No! No, I love your mac 'n cheese . . . I just – you wanna cook for me. I haven't had that in a while – it's nice," Booth smiled at her, shyly.

Brennan smiled back and they started walking again.

"The preparation and contents of a meal can have several different connotations – comfort, pride, love, skill . . . Cultures all have varying rituals and traditions when it comes to choosing and cooking a meal," she spouted off one of her anthropological facts.

"Really?" he replied, casually bumping her side as they walked from the garden to his SUV.

"Yes. For instance, guests of royalty were expected to bring a gift of some sort to their host. Wine or trinkets from their most recent voyage were most common," Brennan said.

"Guess I'll have to make a pit stop at the market before headin' to your apartment," Booth teased.

"I have everything for the recipe – why would you need to stop?" she asked, confused.

Booth looked at her incredulously for a moment.

His comment finally registered in her brain.

"_Oh . . ._ That's funny! _You_ are implying that _I'm_ royalty, and since you're my guest you feel obligated to purchase a gift for my hospitality," she laughed, playfully touching his bicep.

"Yeah, Bones. It is," he chuckled. He loved her laugh – especially _that_ laugh – her flirty laugh. "So . . . ya need any wine?"

"I have a vintage merlot, if that's alright?" she answered.

"That'd be good," he smiled as they got in his car.

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"There's a faster way of choppin' those, ya know?" Booth told her, noticing the meticulous way she sliced and diced the onion.

"Booth, I am perfectly capable of cutting vegetables," she insisted.

"Here, just lemme show ya, okay?" he said, holding out his hand for the knife.

She gave it to him, reluctantly.

"See, ya half it, face the flat side down, and slice it like this - then the other way," he demonstrated. "Try it."

She switched places with him and took the knife back. He moved behind her, placing a hand on either side of the counter, looking over her shoulder.

"It does save time," she admitted, placing the knife down and looking back at him. "Where did you learn this?"

"Pops taught me . . . Grams was Italian. She was always cookin' with onion and garlic and he helped her," he remembered. "When Jared and I were old enough, he taught us. He said he wanted to make sure we knew how to take care of ourselves . . . I wanna teach Parker one of these days. I want him to know that it's not just for girls."

Brennan turned around and gazed at him in awe.

"Parker is more than simply lucky to have you, Booth," she replied. "Many men, even in this evolved age, still deem women to be the sole homemakers and caretakers."

"Yeah, well, I'm not one of those guys," he stated, suddenly realizing how dangerously close they were to each other.

Brennan parted her lips. She was so close he could feel her breath on his own lips. He contemplated whether to lean in or hold back when the boiling water for the pasta answered for him.

"I . . . should turn off the water before it boils over," she said, moving past him to the stove. "You can pick out some music if you'd like."

"Sure. Got anything new?" he wondered, flipping through her collection.

"Angela just recently compiled something called a playlist on my mp3 player. It organized some of the most recent songs I downloaded with ones from my CD collection," she answered.

"Alright! Let's see what we've got here," Booth grinned as he turned on the player and selected the list of songs.

"Hey, Bones – it's our song! C'mon, get over here!" he coaxed as Foreigner's 'Hot-Blooded' blasted over the speakers.

"Booth . . ." she hesitated. "I still have to grate the cheese and -"

"Nope – not gonna work! C'mon!" he pulled her over to a bare spot in her living room.

As they played air-guitars, sang, and danced around to the classic rock tune, it felt like old times again. Back when they were just partners . . . when nothing else was on the line . . .

When the song switched over and slowed to Lifehouse's 'Everything', they both struggled at what to do. Standing still for a few seconds, they ended up gravitating toward each other, holding one another close. Booth admitted to himself how much he missed it - the hugs, the dancing, the laughing, saying anything and everything without having to hold back for one reason or another. They were them again – only changed. And he had faith that they could make it this time, when they were ready.

"Booth? Were you listening?" Brennan pulled him out of his trance.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I said we should go to the toy store tomorrow to get the stuffed bunny," she repeated. "Unless you have other plans?"

"No - that sounds good," he agreed, continuing to sway with her to the music.

They'd planned on getting the baby a gift together – almost like a couple, when he thought about it. And he guessed they were – sort of. They weren't going anywhere, at least.

"I need to check on the macaroni. Could you sauté the vegetables while I grate the cheese?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied, following her back into the kitchen mischievously. "Ya know, I thought _you_ were makin' dinner for _me_?"

"Yes. But since you insisted on distracting me, I find it only fair that you help me finish preparing it," she argued.

"So I'm a distraction? And here I thought _nothing_ could distract the Great Dr. Brennan," he continued to flirt.

"I . . . You-I-" she stuttered, her cheeks flushed.

"Ha!" he smirked.

She slammed the grater in his hand and glared at him.

"You're not as big a distraction as you think," she insisted, turning on the burner.

"Then why are _you_ sautéing and _I'm_ grating?" he observed, his eyes twinkling.

Brennan lowered the heat on the vegetables and huffed in frustration.

"You're not doing it right, Booth," she replied, observing his work. "You'll cut your fingers that way."

"I am _too_ – _look_ -" he showed her. "I've always done it like that."

"Well, it's incorrect," she insisted.

"_It is not!_" he argued, good-naturedly.

"_It is, too!_" she maintained. "Professional chefs have always grated in the opposite direction to avoid injury and microscopic particles of flesh falling into the food."

"Hey - no part of my finger is gonna be in our mac 'n cheese," he continued to argue.

"You are correct – as long as you grate the cheese in the proper method," she smirked, playfully.

Booth stopped and grinned boyishly at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothin', Bones. You finish the cheese – I'll go set the table and get the wine," he told her with a flirtatious wink, and retrieved two plates out of the cabinet.

It was moments like those that made Booth discover that he wasn't as angry about everything anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much for all of your comments and to everyone who has been reading! :) Here's the next chapter, another could-have-been moment from after "The Signs in the Silence"._

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"Hey, Bones! Look at this one!" Booth grinned, boyishly, while holding up yet another onesie in the baby superstore that said 'FBI – Fiercely Beautiful Infant'.

Brennan smiled.

"Angela and Hodgins are expecting a boy, Booth," she reminded him.

"I know – it'd be perfect if they had a girl, though. Even better if _I_ had one . . ." he said, trailing off when he realized what had just come out of his mouth.

"Are you saying you wish to have a daughter?" she asked.

"Nah . . . I mean, if I ever _did_ have another kid it'd be great, but it's _never gonna happen, Bones_," he scoffed, lightheartedly.

"I think a daughter would be nice," she replied.

Booth gazed longingly at her for a moment, resting his arm on a crib.

Brennan looked back and began to speak when a saleswoman approached them.

"Congratulations! Are you two looking for any specific style of crib?" the older woman asked.

"I am not pregnant," Brennan said, perplexed.

"No – we're not, uh – she's -" Booth explained, nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have assumed," the woman apologized. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"We're lookin' for a gift for our friends – a stuffed animal," he told her.

"Oh. Well the animals are in the section right over there. Let me know if you have any questions. And I'm sure it won't be long before you two have a little one of your own on the way!" she smiled and left.

"But -" Brennan started to correct her.

"Just let it go, Bones," Booth said.

"I suppose you're right. Given that we are two adults of the opposite sex and similar age range in a store centered on supplies for infants, it's perfectly rational to assume we are a monogamous couple wishing to create a progeny with our specific biological features," Brennan said, unaffected, and walked toward the section for stuffed animals.

Booth shook his head and followed her.

"How 'bout this little guy?" he suggested, holding up a purple cartoonish rabbit with buck teeth.

"That's not very realistic, Booth," she berated. "Rabbits are not purple and they do not have exaggerated eyes. Why teach a child incorrect colors and features of animals? It will only confuse them later on."

He sighed in exasperation. Maybe it was a good thing they _weren't_ having a kid – she was driving him crazy enough over _someone else's_ baby.

"Okay, Bones. _You_ pick then," he replied.

Brennan took all of the rabbits into careful consideration before deciding on a long-eared bunny similar to the one the girl in their case had had.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's perfect. The baby will love it," Booth assured her. "Ya ready?"

"Yes. I have some paperwork to do at the lab," she said.

"C'mon, Bones. It's the weekend – can't it wait?" he pleaded, giving her a sexy look.

"I do not enjoy procrastinating, Booth," Brennan maintained, getting in the checkout line.

"Not even for a classic movie marathon and some really good Thai?" he coaxed, moving closer to her.

She couldn't resist a smile.

"Okay," she agreed. "But _only_ if we stop by the lab so I can bring my work with me."

"Bones, the whole point of the weekend is to forget about work," Booth argued.

"I need to catch up, Booth," she insisted. "I can just go home if you'd like."

"Alright, Bones, we'll go to the lab. But you've gotta have a little fun, too," he bargained.

"I promise to take reasonable breaks," she said, and pulled out her wallet to pay.

Booth handed her half of the cost of the bunny.

"_Booth . . ._" she protested.

"It's _our_ gift, Bones," he reminded her.

Brennan hesitated for a minute, then relented.

"Perhaps we should look for a mobile as well. I know Angela and Hodgins insisted they didn't need anything, but they're our friends and it's their first child," she contemplated, taking the bag and walking with him toward the exit.

"Why don't we think about it? We can always come back tomorrow if ya want," he suggested.

Brennan nodded and became pensive as they drove to the lab.

"Booth? Is it abnormal for me to enjoy shopping for infant accessories?" she inquired.

"Of course not, Bones. You're human . . . you like kids -" he assured her.

"But I do not _have_ any," she reminded him.

"Doesn't matter. Most people can't resist tiny clothes and cute little booties. You're normal – _trust me_," he told her as they arrived at the Jeffersonian. "C'mon. I wanna get in and get outta here so we can get started on that marathon."

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Brennan casually reached over for some of Booth's jasmine rice, engaged in an article concerning the decomposition of early Malaysian huntsmen, when he stopped her.

"Ah-ah-ah – no stealin' my food 'til ya put that paper down and start watchin' the movie!" he scolded, lightheartedly.

"But Booth! I need more rice for my vegetables and you took the last of it! I highly doubt you'll finish it all," she protested.

"It's not about the food, Bones. It's about you and that article. Can't ya relax for two seconds?" he requested, stretching his arm out for the paper.

She switched it to her farthest hand and placed it on the end table.

"_Now_ can I have the rice?" she huffed.

Booth willing doled some out on her plate.

"Okay – back to 'When Harry Met Sally'!" he grinned, settling into the couch with the rest of his food.

"I thought this was going to be a classic movie night?" Brennan complained.

"It _is_ – 'When Harry Met Sally', 'Lethal Weapon', and 'The Godfather' are all classic movies," Booth told her.

"I have never heard of them, Booth," she claimed, innocently. "I assumed we would watch 'The Mummy', 'Casablanca', or 'High Noon'."

"Tell ya what – we'll watch these tonight, take in some pop culture, and next weekend we can watch your movies," he bargained.

"Okay," Brennan agreed and put her plate on the coffee table, shyly leaning into him as she made herself comfortable.

Booth silently exhaled in contentment, enjoying the trust and ease she still felt with him. He knew it had been hard for both of them to get back to how they were. But this was beginning to feel right again.

Brennan eventually ended up with her head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. They didn't really speak the rest of the movie, but every now and then he'd steal a glance at her and found her doing the same.

His phone rang just as he was contemplating whether to move and put in another movie or enjoy having her next to him.

Brennan sat up and took a sip of her beer.

"Booth," he barked. "Yes, sir . . . That sounds like a good idea . . . I'll be on it first thing Monday morning . . . Thank you, sir."

Brennan looked at him, questionably.

"That was Hacker. Apparently, the Suits are on him about the Broadsky case. He wants me to focus more on it until we've got him," he explained. "And honestly I don't blame him – that son of a bitch is still out there. God knows what he'll pull next . . ."

Brennan gave him a concerned look.

"I'm not Broadsky . . . I just - I need you to believe me," he said, still feeling like he had to reassure her of his intentions.

"I know you're not Broadsky," she said, taking him literally.

"No – Bones, what I'm gettin' at is it's not like I wanna do this," he explained. "I'm not a cold-hearted killer. I don't do it for fun . . . or for the 'Greater Good' or whatever the hell Broadsky claims. _I'm not him._"

"I know, Booth . . . You're a good man. I trust you," she told him.

"Thanks, Bones," he looked at her lovingly.

"Will you need assistance?" she wondered.

Booth shook his head.

"This is between me and Broadsky. We've got all the evidence we need – just have to find the bastard," Booth told her.

"Perhaps Angela can use her computer to aid in locating him?" she suggested.

"Thanks, Bones. But I'll be okay – I've got some guys and Caroline workin' on it with me," he assured her. "So . . . ya think you'll take a vacation sometime next week?"

"Mr. Nigel Murray and I have been working on our presentation for an anthropological conference, entitled The Comparative Four-limb Osteology and Biomechanics of Therapod vs. Homosapian. This will give us more time to perfect our demonstration," she said, her eyes lighting up.

"The _what_? Never mind . . . All I'm sayin' is if _I_ had time off I'd head straight for the Bahamas and be sippin' tequila on the beach," he imagined.

"That isn't very productive, Booth," she remarked. "And technically I do not have any time off. You could catch Broadsky within the next forty-eight hours and there could be another case any day now. I still have research for my next book that I have not done for weeks. But I suppose the beach would be nice for a day or two."

"It's the perfect vacation – all ya have to pack is your bikini, sunglasses, and some shorts," he encouraged.

"What makes you believe my vacation swimming attire is a bikini?" she questioned.

Booth inched closer to her.

"I don't know, Bones. I just figured you'd have one of those sexy, barely-there, string ones . . . ya know, for occasions when kids weren't around," he said, envisioning it at that very moment.

She looked at him coyly but didn't feed his curiosity.

"If I were to take a frivolous, tropical vacation, I'd want a companion with me. What would be the purpose of doing nothing without someone to spend the time with?" she mused.

"So this companion . . . any chance I know him?" Booth played along.

"I never specified gender. Perhaps I'd want a female friend," Brennan continued to tease him.

"Oh. Yeah, well, I'm workin' anyway," he said, cockily.

"You're very presumptuous," she laughed.

"Ya got any other guys in mind?" he challenged.

"As a matter of fact, there are many other suitors I could call," she answered, moving to the opposite side of the couch.

"_Really?_" he flirted.

"Yes . . . However, none of them live up to the 'standard'," Brennan added.

"The 'standard', huh?" he smiled, smugly. "Guess I'm pretty tough competition."

"_Booth . . ._" she protested, throwing a pillow at him. "Could we please watch another movie, now?"

"Alright – just know that after this Broadsky thing is over, I'm free to go _anywhere_ ya want," he winked and put in another DVD before sitting back down.

Brennan scoffed in denial, but eventually settled close to him again.

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****

**A/N:** I realize the end of this one was a little out of canon with Booth telling Brennan about planning to devote all his time to catching Broadsky. However, when I watched the beginning of "Hole in the Heart", I wondered why Brennan would be questioning why they hadn't had any cases recently. It didn't seem right that she and Booth hadn't at least talked to each other on the phone at some point and she hadn't found out then. I'm assuming the writers just needed someone to explain the lack of cases and picked Brennan to bring up the subject, but to me, another character posing the question would have made more sense. Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you to everyone who has read and/or commented - it's really appreciated! Here's the last installment. Enjoy! :)_

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After taking care of the investigation and removal of Vincent's body and going through all of the official paperwork, Booth passed by the lab's platform and noticed Brennan remained kneeling in the same spot where her intern had died. She had blood and fluid vials and was collecting samples of what little was left.

"Bones? What are ya still doing here?" he asked.

"There is residual evidence at the scene of the crime. I have to collect it in order to ensure Broadsky is convicted. I cannot allow Mr. Nigel Murray's killer to go free on a technicality," she stated matter-of-factly and continued to collect the remaining evidence.

Booth leaned down and rubbed her shoulder in sympathy.

"It's okay, Bones. I'm sure we won't really need that. The guys have all the proof they need and the maintenance department will take care of the rest," he assured her and held out his hand to help her up.

Brennan reluctantly removed her gloves and accepted it, standing up. After meeting his pained and saddened eyes, she lowered her head back to where Vincent had died and resisted the urge to cry.

"The Bureau wants all of us to hold a meeting in about twenty minutes. Are ya gonna be okay?" he said, gently lifting her chin. "We can skip it if you want. I'm sure they'll understand."

"I'm fine, Booth," she insisted, drying her eyes with the back of her forearm. "Please just see to it that Broadsky will be convicted."

"There's no way in hell he's gettin' away with this, Bones. I promise," Booth vowed, adamantly, and held her close. Regardless of her answer, he knew she wasn't 'fine' - and neither was he.

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"You're stayin' at my apartment, tonight," Booth stated after the meeting, unwilling to risk anything happening to Brennan after the tragedy that had just occurred.

Brennan opened her mouth to protest, but after another insistent look from Booth agreed.

They solemnly made their way to his SUV, neither one of them feeling the urge to speak. Then Brennan broke the awkward silence.

"Soaking in hydrogen peroxide will get blood out . . . The superoxide anion oxidizes the tetrapyrole rings surrounding the iron atom in the hemoglobin, breaking those hyperconjugated rings and releasing the iron, therefore, eliminating the color of the stain." she told him, not knowing exactly what to say in the situation.

"Thanks, Bones. I'll try that when we get home," he gave her a bittersweet smile. He knew she was trying to console him the only way she knew how. "Are ya hungry? We can pick somethin' up on our way in?"

She shook her head.

"I do not feel much like eating . . . perhaps sleep would be best." she suggested.

"Yeah, probably so – it's been a long day," Booth agreed. "Thanks for not fightin' me on this. I know ya like to take care of yourself, but -"

"After the previous events, you would feel more at ease, emotionally, if the members of your team were protected," Brennan finished for him.

"Somethin' like that . . . I just couldn't take anyone else gettin' hurt at the hands of this son of a bitch – especially not one of us - not . . ." he trailed off, pulling into a space in the parking lot of his apartment building.

She took his hand for a moment, knowing who he meant.

Booth squeezed hers back, awkwardly clearing his throat after a while.

"Ya ready to go in?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, letting go of his hand as she got out of the SUV.

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"So there's TV if you wanna take your mind off everything," Booth offered, throwing his keys on the end table.

"Vincent's favorite television show was 'Jeopardy'," Brennan recalled, matter-of-factly. "He was the reigning champion last year."

"Yeah, he was always full of weirdo factoids, wasn't he?" he smiled, sadly. "I don't think it's on right now, but Parker has the game on his Wii, if you wanna play?"

"I'm afraid my skills would be less than extraordinary right now," she declined.

"Hey, I'm sure you'd still beat _me_," he tried to lighten the mood.

Brennan smiled, amused, then frowned again.

"What about a drink? I know _I_ could use one," he suggested.

"Vincent was an alcoholic . . . he was going through the twelve-step program," she stated.

"Right," Booth sighed and sat beside her on the couch, staring at his hands. Most of the blood was gone, but some had dried and stained or stuck underneath his fingernails. It was a constant reminder of what had happened. And what Brennan had said was true, even though she hadn't meant it in the figurative sense. He was still partly to blame for Vincent's death.

Brennan noticed him staring.

"Your hands . . . I could clean them for you," she said.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll go get the stuff for it," Booth replied. Maybe it would help.

"Eighty milliliters of peroxide," Brennan instructed, taking the peroxide bottle and pouring the liquid solution onto his hands, over the kitchen sink. "Allow the peroxide to be absorbed into your skin for approximately thirty seconds, then wash them with soap and cold water."

Booth did as she told him. Truthfully, he already knew what to do and usually would protest, but teaching him seemed to be therapeutic for Brennan, so he let it slide.

"Okay, now what?" he asked.

"Take this wet sponge and remove any excessive residue . . . like this . . ." she took the sponge and meticulously rubbed it over his hands and fingers, glancing up at him every few seconds. "And then use the brush, which will eliminate any particles underneath your fingernails.

"That was my bullet," Booth said, after minutes of silence from staring at the blood beginning to color the sink pink.

"It was _Broadsky's_ bullet, Booth," Brennan corrected him.

"No, Bones. What I mean is_ I_ was supposed to take it. It was meant for _me_ – _not Vincent_. _I_ was supposed to take that hit. Instead, I handed the phone off to your intern," he explained.

"You couldn't have known, Booth. It wasn't your fault," she reminded him, putting down the sponge and gently drying his hands with a towel.

"I know . . . But if I had only found out where he was sooner. If I'd only gotten to Broadsky before he tried to get to me, this wouldn't have happened," he insisted, pulling away.

Brennan touched his arm and looked caringly, but confidently, into his brown eyes.

"You did the best to your superior capabilities. There was nothing more you could have done. _You_ did not kill Vincent – _Broadsky_ did," she assured him.

Booth nodded and cleared his throat, holding back tears. It'd been a long time since he'd lost someone on his watch. He prided himself on being the hero, but he hadn't been able to save Vincent.

"I'm gonna go get ya somethin' to change into," he excused himself, then paused and turned back around. "Hey, Bones? Thanks . . . I really needed to hear that."

"I was only stating the rational facts," she replied.

He smiled affectionately at her and went to search his dresser.


End file.
